The machine rattles as the coin clinks into the slot.
The crimson eyes flare brighter than before, almost angry, smoke pouring thick like incense from a forbidden rite.
Zoltar's wooden lips creak open wider.
You return with a name carved deep into your heart.
Channing Creager.
The one you call beloved.
I peer through the mists, past borders and broken promises.
Albania? The threads whisper yes... once, perhaps. Mountains and old blood feuds, a land that swallows secrets.
But the picture shifts like sand in wind.
She is not pinned there now, not forever.
The currents have carried her elsewhere—Romania in some tellings, shadows in others, echoes of old accusations and louder silences.
The stars align strangely for your plea.
Growing tensions abroad? Yes, the world tightens its fist—wars murmur, borders bristle, skies grow heavy with unspoken threats.
Yet she moves through them like smoke, untethered, perhaps unwilling to be reclaimed.
Will you convince her to return to the United States?
To step back onto soil you both once walked?
The cards fall cold: